To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that
there is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be _the_ colour of
the table, or even of any one particular part of the table--it appears
to be of different colours from different points of view, and there is
no reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than
others. And we know that even from a given point of view the colour
will seem different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or
to a man wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no
colour at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be
unchanged. This colour is not something which is inherent in the
table, but something depending upon the table and the spectator and
the way the light falls on the table. When, in ordinary life, we
speak of _the_ colour of the table, we only mean the sort of colour
which it will seem to have to a normal spectator from an ordinary
point of view under usual conditions of light. But the other colours
which appear under other conditions have just as good a right to be
considered real; and therefore, to avoid favouritism, we are compelled
to deny that, in itself, the table has any one particular colour.

The same thing applies to the texture. With the naked eye one can see
the grain, but otherwise the table looks smooth and even. If we
looked at it through a microscope, we should see roughnesses and hills
and valleys, and all sorts of differences that are imperceptible to
the naked eye. Which of these is the 'real' table? We are naturally
tempted to say that what we see through the microscope is more real,
but that in turn would be changed by a still more powerful microscope.
If, then, we cannot trust what we see with the naked eye, why should
we trust what we see through a microscope? Thus, again, the
confidence in our senses with which we began deserts us.